


Roses and Herbs

by RodimusPrime036



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, From his dad's POV, MARKSMAN LORE MARKSMAN LORE, Old Times man old times, Original Eliksni Character (Basal and Co.), Watching Marksman grow up, this is in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodimusPrime036/pseuds/RodimusPrime036
Relationships: Original Fallen | Eliksni Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

He sees her the first time across the battlefield. She was fighting with another scout team, cradling a weapon so crude and small he nearly doesn't even classify it as a gun. She had come as a duo team- her friend falling to the onslaught from the Eliksni, and even as a small squad, the team was ruthless. (She wins, to his curious delight, she wins and heaves the fallen human over her shoulder and staggers out of the wreckage she left behind.) He watches her go, watches as an odd vehicle arrives and carts her off, and he wonders why she is here. Did she not know of the cosmos? Did the Great Machine hold her interest as much as she held his? 

He does not know, so he turns from his lingering gazing and retreats back to the shadows. 

  
  
  
  
  


He sees her more around their area. She comes with bigger teams, with more humans that survey the area. They bring more of their vehicles, but they don't work- it seems like a dumping ground for the metal, which is slowly reclaimed by the grasses and plants. She wears thick clothing, camouflaged to her surroundings, (but he sees her whenever she is there, when she and her teams patrol the area and shoot down other House teams.) More Eliksni have arrived, more  _ other  _ groups following- he watches her fight, watches her  _ survive. _ She is strong and capable, independent and brave, and  _ compassionate.  _ That would get her killed where he was from. Still, he is in awe as she tries to show sympathy before fighting, as she attempts peace before tearing through her foes. He watches her lead her team, directing them to victory. (She was a true captain, and he was  _ entranced.)  _ His team humors him; they let him admire her, let him prowl along behind her from the twisted metal, tease him for his admiration even as they ignore her snooping. (He feels she may know he exists. She was prone to stopping, looking around and staring through him in his hiding spots, sometimes leaving odd things behind. A fruit, a dried plant, scraps of cloth or shiny things he hasn't seen before. He wonders if she knows that she was leaving gifts for the enemy.) 

He watches her until days turn to weeks, weeks to months, as the Golden Age fades into tension, and he forgets about his hunt for the Great Machine and finds himself yearning to be  _ found  _ under her searching gaze.

  
  
  
  
  


This doesn't seem very fair. He perches among the trees, prowling and curious. She and her team are outnumbered by a different House. There is a captain there with a scorch canon, and a team at least twice the size of his own- they must have had a Baron here already, he decides. His own House had started setting up, but he and his team kept distance as a scouting squad. It was safer to spread out and avoid being in one place too long. Two of hers go down by the canon, their third overwhelmed by vandals and dregs. The fourth, he decides, is a  _ coward,  _ because they flee like a frightened animal with their tail between their legs. He watches them go with disinterest, prowling closer and refocusing on  _ her.  _ She is alone now, still fighting, (he adjusts his grip on his wire rifle,) and the other captain pulls an arc blade, the sword glittering with energy-

He raises his sight.

_ They raise their sword.  _

He rests a finger on the trigger.

_ They swing down.  _

He pulls.

_ She falls. _


	2. Chapter 2

She is bleeding. Hot, crimson blood that sticks to the front of his armor, runs down his arms, the scent metallic and consuming as he carries her off. 

_ Drip, drip, drip. _

__ It patters against the dirt, against the metal vehicles and the plants, sticky and bright. He speeds up, because he doesn't know how much blood a human can afford to lose. She is mumbling, delirious and confused, reaching up at him and swatting at his chest like he will release her. (She will die out here if he does, so he squeezes her tighter and croons in a manner he hopes is soothing. She stares weakly up at him, helmeted head lolling to the side, her only remaining hand leaving smudges of blood on his chestplate. She coughs, her voice thick and  _ wet.  _ **_"Thank you,"_ ** she whispers, strained, and then she fell limp in his grasp. 

He moves softer now, careful as he cradles her firm to his chest and makes his way through the junkyard. Their current hideaway is in a shallow cave, but that wouldn't do with their newest addition. Papreeka and Oregono are there, tossing little stones to one another- they scramble to attention when he shoves through the curtains, and Oregono bursts towards him with a start.  _ "The human,"  _ she chattered, though her curious hands jerked away when he gave a low growl.  _ "Hurt?"  _ Her nose tilts upwards as she sniffed the air, and Papreeka slapped at her shoulder.  _ "Obviously,"  _ he hissed, but there was no malice to his tone. Basal stared down at her, at her false camouflage and bleeding shoulder, before looking up and chirping crossly.  _ "What supplies do we have?"  _

And so, after he gingerly places her on the tarp covered ground, they get to work.

  
  
  
  
  


She is… pretty, by most- (if not all)- standards. A curly pile of near-black hair, dark skin made pale by blood loss, friendly features usually hidden under her helmet. Blood soiled her clothing, turning the greens and browns into darkened reds, sticky and stiff as it dried into rusty brown. It had been a clean cut; everything below her shoulder on the left side was gone, still sparkling with arc energy that left the smell of a metallic burn _.  _ Oregono knew most about first aid, and she had shoved the lingering captain out of their makeshift medical corner before she set to work on cleaning and bandaging the massive wound.

He hunkers nearby anyways, until she sends him and Papreeka out to hunt for better supplies. 

  
  
  


She doesn't awaken for a long time. ( _ "Losing that much blood,"  _ Oregono had explained when she grew tired of his hovering,  _ "means she'll be out for a while. She's healing.")  _ This wasn't how he had wanted to meet face to face- not with her blood staining his armor red, with her unconscious frame looking so terribly small without her padded armor, hidden under his cloak, (since it was the thickest excuse of a blanket they had.) 

The hours pass, fade into the next day and then some, and he reminds huddled close to her frame, anxious at each pained sound she gave even through her haze of sleep. He is nearly dozing, in the night of the second day, before her wheezing breaths dragged him to alertness. "Hello?" She sounds ragged and dry, and he chattered quickly before sitting up straight and leaning over her frame. Her eyes are unfocused, but her pupils shrink when they see him.  _ Fear. _ She jerks, trying to drag herself back, giving a shrill sound of pain when she flexed her shoulder, and he rapidly waved his arms around before hunkering his frame in too look smaller and speaking softly. "Help," he murmurs, raising his lower arms to gesture at his chest. "Help, you." He gestures at her, next, and she stares up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. (They are brown, he notes, a deep, swirling brown.) 

"You- you're helping me?" She clarifies, and he nods enthusiastically. "Were you the one who killed that other captain?" Another nod, eager and pleased, and she hesitantly settled down against the tarp. 

"Hurt," he sidles closer, reaching out tentatively to gesture at her bandaged frame. The white fabric was bound around what remained of her shoulder, looping over the opposite side and curling over her chest and upper back. (She seems oddly embarrassed, drawing his cloak up until it was covering her exposed midsection while she stared down at the missing limb.) "We fixed it?" At his questioning tone, she peaked up at him again, offering a strained, pained smile. 

"As much as you could." She offers, slowly sinking into the curtains and cloths that made up her pillows. "Did you… are you the one who's been following me?" He dips his head, huddling in further on himself before sheepishly nodding. "Curious," he mutters, and perks at the soft laugh she gave. She winced after, curling her hand around her side like it would soothe the ache, and he flit his hands about worriedly. "I'm okay!" She exclaimed quickly, (and she reaches out and rests her hand on his arm- and he is in awe of how  _ small  _ she is, how her skin stands out against his armor, and he wonders how soft it would feel against his own. Humans were known to be rather squishy, after all.) She coughs suddenly, ruining his soft stupor as she jerked and rasped in a breath. "Do you have any water?" She croaked, and he chirruped before twisting around.  _ Water, water, water,  _ he digs out the container she had been carrying in her old armor, (they had filled it with water earlier, when Oregono had told them she would want some,) and held it out towards her, keeping a small distance. There was no need to spook her any more than she already was, he had decided, and she didn't seem too thrilled about him being too close. He watches, entranced, as she tips the canister back and downs nearly the entire thing. (Half of it spills down her chin, collecting against what little of her skin was exposed above his cloak, and he tears his gaze away from the water droplets gathered on her collar with an embarrassed click.) 

"Thank you," she whispers once she lowers the container, and he nodded quietly, peering down at her. 

"Anything else?" He chirps, and she hesitates before speaking again.

"Your name?" She requests, and he blinks once. His name? Why did his name matter? Humans were odd little things, but he would be lying if he wasn't interested in her own. 

"Basal," he replied after a moment, and her smile was soft and tired.

"Hi Basal," she was closing her eyes, breathing getting softer as she sighed and relaxed her arm against her stomach. "I'm Rosemary."

(And he thinks that may be one of the most wonderful names he's ever heard, as she quickly falls asleep again. He also thinks, despite the scratch to her voice, that  _ Rosemary _ has one of the prettiest voices he has listened to. He sits there, chirping her name to himself, even after she falls asleep.)


	3. Chapter 3

Her bag is light in his grasp. The sun was sinking below the horizon, gliding across the sky like an orange saucer, and he adjusted his grip on Rosemary's pack before retreating. There wasn't much left at the sight; the vandals seemed to have taken their fallen captain off with them when they fled, leaving nothing but her team's bodies and her dropped supplies behind. He had quickly scavenged whatever they held- filled up a few water containers, scrounged up human foods and weapons, grabbed whatever clean cloths he could find before scampering back off to their base. He patrols the area quickly, sniffing out whatever he could find, (snarling softly at the scent that fleeing human had left,) and by the time he heads back to their little home, the sun had faded into a star-spattered, inky blanket. 

"… where's Basal?" 

Her voice-  _ Rosemary's  _ voice- is louder and stronger than the days before. He recognizes Papreeka's frustrated chattering as he brushes the curtains aside, and the vandal gives him a dry look.  _ "She won't let me near her,"  _ he complains, gesturing towards the scowling human. She has his cape brought up under her chin, her hand clutching at a small stone that she waved wildly towards Oregono, who was laughing nearby. He shot her a scolding look, ambling over to the little human and crooning softly. "Rosemary," he murmurs, and she twists to face him, expression hopping from harsh and angry to softer, still guarded. "Basal." She replied in greeting, and at his curious stare, she slowly lowered the rock and scooted herself into a more casual sit. He settled in beside her, still a foot away, and pat down his pockets before procuring an odd little thing wrapped in clear plastic. It smelled sweet, the thing inside soft and spongy, and when she spotted it, her guarded expression twisted into a delighted grin. "Is that for me?" She asks, and she sounds eager and shy, and he nods once as he holds it further towards her. She tears open the packaging, fumbling to pull out one of the spongy things before tearing it in half and holding it out to him. "It's- it's kind of like a cake," she explained in response to his wordless confusion. "It's sweet and has cream inside." He takes it hesitantly, slanting his eyes as he inspected it, and she giggled softly. "It's good." She abruptly hisses through her teeth, cringing and folding forward, and he gave a distressed chatter. (He pointedly ignores Oregono's teasing chirps, as she and Papreeka slide out of their camp to finish their own patrolling.) 

"I'm  _ fine,"  _ she hisses air through her teeth, (which are so much  _ softer  _ than his own,) her eyes screwed shut against the pain, and he cooed softly, holding out her bag. "I don't-" he clicked crossly, curling his arms up to his chest and still carefully holding the 'cake,' "I don't know if any of this will help, but-" (she's staring at him, eyes wide despite her pain, and he cringes away as though he had frightened her.) "You can  _ talk."  _ She sounds surprised. "I mean, more than you did earlier. I didn't know you were fluent in English." He waves his free hands slightly, shrugging slightly while nudging the bag closer. "Yours," he mutters, turning away to raise his helmet so he could shove the food into his mouth. (It  _ was  _ sweet; an odd texture, filled with an even sweeter cream. He licked the crumbs off his face before tucking his helmet down on the floor and turning back to her.) 

She's fumbling through her bag, which rested between her knees. Her ankles were crossed forming a small indent to safely hold up the pack while her hand shoved things around inside. She pulls out a little rattling container, relief pouring over her features as she shook two little capsules from inside and threw them into her mouth. Rosemary chugged a mouthful of water, shoving the other half of the cake into her mouth before looking back to him and offering a crumb-coated smile. "Thank you." She wipes her wrist over her mouth before continuing. "For- for everything. I'd be dead if you didn't step in." Basal waved her words off, ducking his head to look over her face, cooing out a chattering sound as he admired her features now that she was awake. Rosemary's eyes sparkled even in the dim light, a pool of shimmering brown that was darker than her skin, which looked soft and  _ squishy.  _ She had rounded cheeks and full lips, and her fluffy hair fell down last her shoulders and by her ears.. Her eyes were wide, startled at his sudden nearness- 

Then she raised a hand. 

Rosemary is warmer than he is. Her hand is so  _ small,  _ a little spot of warmth on the side of his face, gently cradling his cheek in her palm. (She has more fingers than he does, he notes when the rest of his thoughts fail, and then she  _ pets.)  _ "Thank you," she repeats again, softer, running her thumb over his cheek, staring into his eyes and smiling softly. He gives a deep growling sound that he is nearly unfamiliar with, slanting his eyes, and she flinches away sharply-  _ no, no, he hadn't meant to scare her-  _ and he sits back with an uncertain expression. "Was that bad?" She's frowning, soft and hesitant, and he rapidly shook his head with a sharp click.  _ "No,"  _ and then, at her confused look, he tried again. "No. Good," he gestures vaguely, hunching down to look smaller, and she offered a strained smile before looking down, back at her bag. "Was there… anyone else left?" He blinked at her tone, soft and  _ sad,  _ and bared his teeth in a grumbling snarl. "None that matter," he grumbles, and she is looking cautiously up at him.

"What does that mean?"

"One of them left you.  _ Cowardice."  _ He gives a sharp chatter, and she runs her fingers through his cloak's fluffy collar. 

"It was probably a misunderstanding-"

**_"Cowardice,"_ ** he repeats sharply, now in her own language. "He left his captain to fight alone. If he were an Eliksni, he would be docked to a dreg." (She doesn't seem to understand what that means, but she understands his  _ hostility,  _ resting her hand on his arm again and shaking her head softly. 

"I'm… assuming that's a bad thing." She mutters. "But- but maybe he was going for help, or-"

  
  


"You would have died long before he found anybody." His voice is blank and cold, expression dark, and he tries to ignore the unreadable expression she was giving him. "And if I ever see him again,  _ I will kill him."  _ (He knows she can't understand the threat, but she seems to recognize it as it is, because she cringes and hands him another half of a cake.) "… thank you," she murmurs, eyebrows slanting as she reached into the bag and pulled out another water canister. "I'm… glad you care." He sits back, rumbling softly as he watches her sip at the water. 

(He  _ would  _ kill the coward, should he ever appear again. For abandoning a captain. For betraying  _ Rosemary, _ who's heated handprint is still imprinted on his cheek.) 


	4. Chapter 4

Basal waits until she has healed enough to move independently before he hunts. It takes a few days, but she gradually settles through her pains and is able to at least wander their little home before needing to rest again. 

It is  _ now _ that he  **_hunts_ ** _.  _

Oregono and Rosemary watch the two Eliksni as they disappear into the metal junkyard. The vandal keeps a good distance from the human, but they are united as they stare at the fading forms until they disappear amongst the wreckage. "Where are they going?" Rosemary asks, and Oregono hums as she turns back to her work. (Their medicine was… rudimentary at best, mostly herbs and whatever they could scrounge up, but she enjoyed organizing it nonetheless.) 

  
  


"Their hunting," she replies quickly, squinting down at her plants. 

"Hunting  _ what?"  _ Rosemary presses, scooting closer so that she, too, could look down at the leaves. (She had healed past the constant need for Basal's cloak, which he wore when he left. She notes that his scent still hangs heavy around the human.) 

"Your teammate," Oregono places two plants into a separate pile, folding a few big, waxy leaves into a makeshift bag as she placed more groups of herbs inside. "The one who dishonored you." Rosemary looks pale- a feat that almost impresses Oregono, watching how humans changed color- and looks down, harder at the piles. "I don't understand why it's such a big deal." She murmurs, and the Eliksni huffed a laugh, looking up slightly. "He marked you down. His running disgraced you. Basal will return the favor." Rosemary frowns further, confusion creasing her brows. 

"What does that mean? 'Marked me down?' Because he ran?"

"No." Oregono sits back, crossing her upper arms and resting her lower in her lap. Rosemary crosses her legs as she copies the Eliksni, her hand clutching her pants as she tilted her head slightly. "Eliksni," she begins, "are hatched with  _ four  _ arms." (She waves all of hers for extra measure.) "However, when proving to be a disgrace in battle, the lower set are often removed as a reminder of your failures. It is seen as the lowest of us, a  _ dreg. _ Papreeka and I are  _ vandals,  _ and Basal is our  _ captain.  _ He's the top of our little heap.  _ You _ lost an arm." She points to the missing limb, her tone heavy. "You have been  _ disgraced,  _ by hand of one of your own.  _ His  _ mistakes cost his captain her pride. Basal will be…  _ permanently demoting him."  _ She laughs to herself, returning her plants to their spots, leaving out a few spice-scented leaves. Rosemary seems uncertain, blinking slowly, and Oregono stands with a chorus of chatters. 

"I think I understand," Rosemary murmurs, soft and thoughtful, and the Eliksni nodded pleasantly. "But why is Basal so set on finding him? You guys are already taking care of me." Oregono snorts, shaking her head and giving the human a quick once over. 

"Disrespect against a King isn't taken lightly," she informs happily, and continues before Rosemary can ask what that means. "You're one of ours- one of  _ his,  _ and therefore anyone disgracing  _ you  _ is an insult against  _ us."  _ (She leaves Rosemary to her soft wonderment, instead moving further back into the cave and calling over her shoulder.) "Better start getting ready, captain said this morning that he may have found us a bigger den." 

  
  
  
  
  


The hunt is unsuccessful so far. The scent of  _ coward  _ fades at the side of a creek, the water brushing away anything easy to scope out. The day is gone by the time they've arrived to the bubbling water, and as they trudge through the stream, the cold water soaks his cloak up to his knees. 

_ "Captain,"  _ Papreeka speaks above the splashing, (and Basal notes distantly that the water goes up to the little vandal's thighs instead of his knees.)  _ "Should we head back?"  _ The captain hummed, low and growly, stepping out of the water and tilting his nose to the air. ( _ Dirt, heavy and constant, water, clear and sharp, the undergrowth, green and crisp,  _ **_fear_ ** _ , a human undertone, gunpowder and bullets.  _ **_Hunt.)_ **

_ "Scent."  _ He grumbles, and the vandal scrambles to his side, moving low to the ground and taking a deep breath. He chatters, low and eager, prowling into the plants, and Basal followed at a more leisurely pace. Hunting was  _ good,  _ something they hadn't done in a long time. Papreeka remained low, sniffing out their prey, and they marched through the foliage. The thrill of a good hunt rattled under his chest, adrenaline rushing as the scent grew stronger, as the sun crept lower and they hunkered lower in the undergrowth,  _ they  _ were the predators. 

  
  


Soon, the plants are crushed before they step on them, the scent thick and heavy. Crunched sticks, crumbled leaves and prints in the dirt. He clicks softly to Papreeka once the smell of  _ smoke  _ falls over them, and they creep through the leaves, until the orange glow of a fire paints the trees, a cloud of smoke rising to the sky.  _ Seen. _ His eyes narrow, pinpointing the human, huddled close to the flames. He is wearing the same clothing as Rosemary did, not that it does much to hide him, and is staring into the fire with an unreadable expression. Papreeka goes to move closer, but he holds out a hand and settles into a comfortable sit.  _ Wait, _ he wordlessly orders, and Papreeka settles in beside him. 

Basal enjoyed  _ waiting. _ He was a King, after all, and observing was one of his most common past-times. A mute anger boils under his skin, hot and  _ impulsive. _ He snuffs it out, watching as the human nods off beside the fire. (He could push him in before he even woke up. He could tear him apart in less than a second if he wanted to. He could make the little human taste the  _ coals _ , and maybe he would understand the anger Basal felt at Rosemary's dishonor. He does not do any of these things; he sits back.

And he waits.) 


	5. Chapter 5

"When will they be back?" 

Oregono sighs, staring out of their little base for another few seconds before twisting back to face the human. She was frowning, dark eyes slanted and cross, and the vandal blinked lazily at the sulking soldier. "When they're done hunting," she replies smoothly, moving by the human to throw a few more supplies into a bag. They had been packing the last two days, tucking supplies and weapons away into bags and boxes for transit. (When Basal and Papreeka returned, they would be moving. They had been here too long, and that was _dangerous.)_

"Well, when will they be done hunting?" Rosemary pressed, and Oregono huffed. 

"I don't know," she sighed. 

"It's been _days-_ do _'hunts'_ always take this long?" 

"Depends. Some last longer, some end once a target is found. My guess? They're _watching."_ She grins at Rosemary's nervous expression. 

"Watching?" She murmurs curiously, and Oregono nods agreeably. "What are they looking for?" 

"Lots of things. Weak points, bases, information. Best time to attack." She waves a lower arm dismissively, sitting down with a grunt to clean one of her blades. "Sometimes Basal likes to _watch._ But I'm sure you knew that already." She grins, and Rosemary gives a dry laugh. 

"Why is that? That he- he followed me, I mean." (Oregono notes distantly that the human still smells like the captain; to anyone who didn't see her, it would be easy to assume she was the Eliknsi, with how heavy his scent stuck to her. To _Oregono_ , it was rather comical.) 

"I don't know." She says blankly. (It is a lie.) "He sees you as… an equal, maybe? A captain like him." Rosemary nods slowly, and Oregono continues on. "How are you adjusting? With your arm, I mean." The human frowns again, looking down at the missing space and furrowing her brows.

"It's… odd. I know it isn't there but I still feel like it _should_ be. And it hurts pretty often, too. Less than I thought it would? I don't know how you guys managed that." She seems thoughtful, still staring down. "Do you think they've tried finding my team?" Oregono cringes then, soft, nearly unnoticeable. 

"They haven't." She admits quietly. "There have been no signs of any activity from your people since we got you. Papreeka and I have been watching, and Hibiscus and Mint haven't reported any motion." _That_ draws Rosemary's attention, as she arches a brow and opens her mouth to speak. "They're shanks," Oregono interrupts. "Hibiscis and Mint are shanks. Like- like little robots. Sometimes we stick little guns to them because it's funny." She chatters, chirping and clicking to herself as she adds her blade to the growing collection in the bag. Rosemary giggles softly, despite the soft sorrow tucked away in her eyes. (Oregono wonders what it must be like, to be forgotten by her kind. Then she remembers that they hadn't heard from any King Kells in years, and decides it isn't _that_ bad. Maybe it was different for humans.) 

"Do you think I'll ever go back?" Rosemary asks suddenly- and Oregono bites her tongue, looking down at her bag, allowing the silence to stretch on until it is uncomfortable. Rosemary looks down, seeming to understand the weight of her question.

"You know, Basal never left your side when we were fixing you up." The Eliksni hummed, clicking and churring, ignoring the human's curious look. "Just stood by- positively _snarling_ whenever you even whined. Scary to watch, actually. Thought he was going to attack me when I had to," she gestures vaguely to the gauze around her arm and chest, (and Rosemary knows there is a mess of stitches under the white material,) "you know. Practically bit Papreeka for being too rough with you. Never seen him take that cloak off until you were feverish and shaking." 

"Why are you telling me this?" Rosemary sounds uncertain, soft and hesitant in her question. 

Oregono doesn't reply, giving the human a knowing look before returning to her packing. It wasn't her place to spell the obvious, after all. 

  
  
  
  
  


The human is a loud little thing. He shouts at whatever frustrates him, kicks rocks and throws stones at little animals scuttling about that were too stupid to run away. The trail he leaves reeks of fear and anger, despite holding no injury, and he occasionally pulls out a little comm system and hisses into it. (Every time there is not a response, he snarls and smacks at it. Basal notes with smug amusement that he is only breaking it further.) There isn't much to learn; he does little over the week they follow, aside from walk and complain and go in circles. He eats odd things he finds, catches little things and cooks them on his obvious fires, wastes his bullets shooting random trees for fun. Papreeka is getting impatient, Basal notes, clicking softly to him when the human sleeps, and he shares in the crossness. (This _dirt,_ this pathetic excuse of a soldier, who cost his captain her pride, her dignity, her _honor,_ thought he had the right to be so shameless? To behave as though he held no guilt, no shame for his _crimes-_ his arrogance had to be punished. To demote him to dreg would be a kindness considering his deserved punishment, Basal decided. 

The hunt truly begins at the beginning of dusk. The sun sinks, painting the leaves in golden shadows, the sky a dangerous blood-red that faded into peaceful blues. He signals patiently to Papreeka, who creeps away, circling in on the human.

_Click, click, rustle, crunch._

The coward twists wildly towards the sound, firing rapidly into the underbrush and shouting words that don't make sense. 

_Clickclickclickclick,_ four left. 

He wonders if the human knows of his mistakes. 

_Clickclick,_ two left. 

He erupts from the bushes with a clatter of branches, shouldering them aside and snapping them when they lingered on his armor. The human gave a shrill shout of surprise, rocking towards him and firing another shot. 

_Click._ A miss. 

_Crack._ This one hits, collides with his side in a shower of chitin and armor, and he slams into the little human with enough force to throw him into the dirt. His gun fires again, desperate and fast-

_Chickchickchick-_ it is empty. Basal's hand curls around his wrist and squeezes until something cracks, the human howling and writhing beneath his lumbering frame. The gun hit the sand, and Papreeka scrambled from the foliage to clutch it in his lower arms, dancing away and chattering at the coward's wild thrashing. Basal huffs in a heavy breath; the air is heavy with the scent of fear, thick and intoxicating, a drug that sends his adrenaline rocketing. His prey trembles like a hatchling beneath him, eyes wide and pupils expanded, writhing and shouting, coiling like a snake in the dirt. The vision matches the eagerness coiling in his gut, the violent glee at a successful hunt, fury-fueled fire licking in his chest. _"Prey,"_ he croons to the wiggling human, and Papreeka clicks agreeably. 

He doesn't recognize the language the human is babbling in, but he recognizes a tone of _pleading._ Only cowards begged- true soldiers accepting their fate when they were found guilty of _treason_ against their captain. 

"You," he growls, leaning down low and close, and their coward wails when the weight is added to his broken wrist. "Are a _coward._ Your failures and _cowardic_ e cost your captain her pride and dignity. As such, as a captain from the House of Kings, you are being permanently _demoted,_ and will be marked as a _failure_ and a _coward_ for the rest of your miserable, sniveling days." He clicks and chatters, thick, rattling snarls that vibrate into growls deep in his throat. 

A rock collides harshly with the side of his helmet, the metallic ringing causing him to roll to the side. A corner of metal scrapes through the dirt, glittering in the dying light, a golden reflection of the sun shimmering off its silver surface- 

_Crack._ The human howls, loud and pained, and the echo of Papreeka's gun is nearly as loud as the vibrating in his helmet. He blinks rapidly, clearing his fuzzy vision, too see their prey curling in on himself a few feet away. He had tried to _run-_ his cowardice knew no bounds, it seems. He snarls, low and guttural, dragging himself back up and prowling back to his place above him. There's blood seeping through his clothing, a thick, crimson stain, and Basal grunts as he hefts the human up by an arm and grimaced. 

"May you be reminded of your dishonor for your very _few_ remaining hours." He says sagely, and then, with his lower hands, (because this _filth_ wasn't worth any honor,) he happily removed his arms from his torso. 

Basal does not often pride himself on unnecessary cruelty, but as he and Papreeka leisurely pace back into the undergrowth, he finds a bittersweet sort of glee in his chest. _Justice,_ he decides, is a _far_ more appropriate word.


End file.
